


A Night Among The Stars

by GrinningColossus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Penetrative Sex, boys in suits, jealous hank, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15134774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrinningColossus/pseuds/GrinningColossus
Summary: Connor and Hank are guests of honor at a charity banquet for Detroit's developing human and android diplomacy. Unfortunately, a certain former CyberLife CEO is also in attendance. His wishes for Connor are not quite so benevolent, and it forces Hank and Connor to confront what has so far remained unspoken between them.





	1. Chapter 1 - The Event

“ _And now for your nightly news_ ,” boomed the announcer as a sleek graphic popped up on the screen. Upbeat music played as the camera focused on the newscasters.

“ _Welcome to the 7 o’clock update_ ,” the smartly dressed anchor said, smiling into the camera.

Connor gave a pointed glance over his shoulder. Seven p.m. and the Hank was still not finished getting dressed. Connor distinctly remembered telling him they need to leave shortly after seven if they wanted to arrive at a socially acceptable time.

He turned back to the TV, pursing his lips. “ _The top news of tonight: the much anticipated Civil Liberties Benefit Gala, sponsored by the Detroit City Technological Foundation and the newly-formed Android Rights Committee, or ARC, will be taking place within the hour at the International Banquet and Conference Center. The most prominent names in the burgeoning android civil rights community will be in attendance, and there are even rumors that the elusive Elijah Kamski, the inventor credited with the creation of androids, will make an appearance._

“ _Kamski has largely withdrawn from the public eye in the time since his departure from CyberLife, but sources familiar with the tech genius speculate that this event might be too tempting to resist._ ”

They had just switched to their field agent when Connor heard a noise behind him.

Hank had at last emerged from his bedroom, and Connor had never seen him more uncomfortable. The suit was clearly newer than the majority of his wardrobe, but not so new that it was completely accommodating to...differences in his physique. He tugged at the neck and grimaced.

Connor appraised him. “You look very acceptable, Lieutenant,” he informed Hank with a cheeky nod.

Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, put him in a monkey suit and watch him dance. We going or what?”

Connor could have noted that it was a bit hypocritical to be rushing him, when it was Hank that was making them late, but he swallowed the observation. The past few months had taught him a lot about living with humans, but by far the most useful lesson was that humans did not always appreciate honesty.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” was what he said instead, turning off the TV with a thought and shaking out his trousers as he stood. Hank stopped and stared at him.

Connor didn’t feel that his suit was so different from his usual uniform, but perhaps it was still jarring to Hank. The jacket was black, with a slate grey shirt underneath and silky black tie. The usual blue and white android trimmings were missing completely.

And oh, the doubts. Connor _hated_ the feeling of doubt. As hard as he tried to accept that it was only a small part of a greater gift, like the prickly stems of a bouquet of roses, he couldn’t help but feel endlessly self-conscious, especially around Hank. Was this right? Was that okay?

Do I look bad?

Hank must have seen the look in his eyes because he cleared his throat and continued to reach for his coat. “You’re not so unacceptable yourself,” he declared, shrugging on his same old overcoat. Connor internally winced. “But there is one big problem.”

Connor’s head whipped up, LED flashing yellow. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“How’s anyone gonna know you’re an android if it’s not slapped across your back?” A beat passed, and Hank smirked.

Connor narrowed his eyes. “Very funny, Lieutenant.”

Hank certainly seemed to think it was, because he was still chuckling to himself as he opened the front door and the two stepped onto the porch.

The late spring night held a faint blush of warmth, just a tease of the coming summer, and the newly budded leaves rustled with the breeze. A taxi was already waiting for them. Hank had tried to insist on his old beater, but as guests of honor they were offered a taxi and Connor insisted it would be rude not to accept.

His real motives were somewhat more selfish. If Hank wasn’t driving, the two of them could have some time to talk in close quarters together, privately.

Why he wanted this when they lived together and had plenty of opportunities to talk already...Connor couldn’t say.

Wouldn’t say, perhaps.

See, there was this nagging thought (or was it a feeling?) that had been bothering him for the last few weeks. His software was up to date; each diagnostic scan came back clean; and there seemed to be no other disturbances in his program, aside from the effects of deviancy. And yet there was clearly something very, very wrong with him.

The two of them climbed into the back of the taxi, which zoomed off after the doors were shut without needing instruction. It was dimly lit inside, the sounds of the street muffled, and Connor looked out the window, suddenly unable to talk as he envisioned.

Hank sighed and leaned his head back. “It’s not too late to turn this thing around,” he groaned, pulling at his sleeves.

“We are guests of honor,” Connor reminded him. “It would be very impolite for us not to appear.”

“Bah, since when did you care so much about being polite?”

“I was programmed to--”

Hank grinned and whacked his foot into Connor’s. “Yeah yeah, ‘programmed’.”

It had become their in-joke of late. Though Connor tended to default towards the stiff attitude with which he used to carry himself, he found it harder every day to remember what it was about his programming, his sacred _mission_ , that was so damned important. All those expectations and demands slipped into his code, but they were never _him_.

Speaking of…

“Lieutenant, I was watching the news earlier and they mentioned that Elijah Kamski might be present at the event.”

At the mention of the inventor’s name Hank sneered. “Oh yeah? That puffed up little punk is going to grace us with his presence tonight? Can’t wait. There’s a few things I’d like to say to him.”

Connor stared down at his own hands, perched atop his thighs. Hank hadn’t stopped looking at him. He ducked his head down, tried to catch Connor’s eye.

“Hey,” he said, in the soft voice he only ever used to use for Sumo, in private, and then began to use towards Sumo when Connor was around, and then he jumped the rails and found himself using it with Connor himself. He raised his hand and seemed to hesitate for a moment, but after quick deliberation brought it down to rest over Connor’s and squeezed a little.

The contact felt like all the bulbs on a string of Christmas lights turning on in sequence, racing down Connor’s spine. There it was again: that strange jolt, the thought he couldn’t place…

“You don’t have to talk to that bastard. We don’t even have to get close, okay?”

Normally Connor might try to insist that he was fine, that he wasn’t afraid, but there was no point. Hank already knew everything, knew all the things Kamski had whispered in his ear as he started into Chloe’s passive eyes, knew about Amanda and the poison she fed him.

They had talked about it shortly after Connor moved in with Hank, when talks had begun between the government and the androids and integration was on the horizon. Connor had nowhere else to go, but Hank acted like it was a non-issue, a thing taken for granted; of _course_ he would stay with Hank.

Even though things had at times been...fraught between them during the investigation, there was no ambiguity now. Connor was welcome. They still had pointless spats and perhaps willful misunderstandings, but knowing that Hank accepted him made it so easy to spill his guts.

So Connor told him about Amanda. He told Hank that Amanda was always pushing, pushing. She hated when he had doubts.

(“She liked it when I affirmed my...disposability,” Connor had told him.

Hank set down his drink with disgust. “What a bitch.”)

Hank didn’t express emotion well (never had, to be honest) and he had very unique ways of commiserating, but Connor got the message loud and clear. _She was wrong. You’re not disposable._

Connor almost felt ridiculous being so wary of Kamski, but Amanda had been Kamski’s mentor, after all. From what he had seen so far, the poison trickled all the way down.

Connor nodded stiffly and said nothing.

When they pulled up outside the banquet center, Hank was the first to get a eyeful of the place. Enough lights and holographic banners had been erected outside that the place could probably be seen from space. Photographers and journalists waited beside the front walk, snagging interviews and photos with influential guests. Hank whistled low.

“Red carpet treatment, huh?”

Connor looked down at the sidewalk and did not see any carpet, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

The taxi came to a stop. Hank clapped his hands on his knees, frowning. “Well, here goes nothing.”

When the two of them hit the pavement, the reaction was almost immediate. Flashbulbs popped before their eyes, nearly blinding Hank, who swore and put his hand over his brow. Connor put on his best polite smile and took Hank by his bicep, leading him towards the front doors.

The press had other ideas, however, cornering them and snapping photo after photo of the two of them. They seemed particularly intent on photographing Connor, and he tried to tune out the multitude of voices calling his name and vying for his attention. One particularly brave reporter planted her feet right in front of them, no doubt trying to stop them long enough for an interview, but Connor was miles ahead of her and pivoted just in time to coolly pass her by.

The relative quiet inside the receiving hall was a mercy.

“Holy shit, that was insane,” Hank breathed. “Good work back there.”

Before he became deviant, Connor never would have done something like that. He would have stood there like a proud toy soldier, allowing CyberLife’s handiwork to be seen and marveled at.

“Fuck that,” Hank said, and Connor nearly jumped, thinking Hank was reading his mind, but instead the Lieutenant had apparently recovered enough to make his way further down the hall to the reception desk, where they were given their table number.

It took a good deal of pressing through the crowd, but the two finally made their way into the hall proper. The room widened into a huge space with a big, yawning ceiling, glowing blue and white decorations strung along every side of the room. The part of the room by the doors was more open, with space for groups to gather and schmooze inside a perimeter of banquet tables, each laden with finger foods. Then came the tables, all round and quite tall, and finally the stage.

The bar was against the wall near the tables, and Hank visibly relaxed at the sight of it.

He was even happier to see that they had been seated among friends, including Officer Collins, Captain Fowler, and two of the station’s androids that, like Connor, had decided to join with the DCPD after their liberation. The android officers were named Bernice and Harvey, names they had chosen for themselves.

Connor was particularly pleased to see that Gavin Reed was not placed with them; he and Officer Miller were seated nearby but among separate company.

“There’s the men of the hour!” Ben Collins greeted, standing up enough to reach for Hank’s hand and shake it.

“You don’t clean up half bad, Hank,” noted Fowler, nodding towards Hank’s suit. Connor couldn’t help a tiny, smug smile; he’d had a large hand in making Hank presentable for the evening.

He and Hank took their seats, only for Hank to almost immediately excuse himself for the bar.

In his absence, Connor was pleased to find out that he wasn’t as awkward as he feared. The last few months, despite being stressful, had been productive and rewarding. Most of the other DCPD staff regarded Connor positively.

Just as people were settling into their seats and the lights began to dim, Hank slid back into his seat.

“Just in time, Lieutenant.”

Fowler started to harass him at once.

“Go on, old man, drink it up quick. You’re no fun until you’re sauced.”

Hank laughed sarcastically and raised his drink to his lips, displaying one particular finger more prominently on the side of the glass.

The ceremony, it turned out, was remarkably boring even for Connor’s standards. None of his preferred revolutionaries were in attendance (that is to say, Markus; very little else mattered in a room when Markus was present) and there was an awful lot of back-patting going on, even if most of it was deserved.

Hank relaxed back in his seat as one speaker stopped and another started, and his knee brushed against Connor’s under the table. It sent a strange sort of shock to Connor’s belly. He risked a sideways glance at the Lieutenant, but Hank’s face gave no indication that he cared about the unintentional contact.

Maybe he thought Connor’s android limb was just part of the table.

The thought made Connor feel...disappointed?

Emotions were still hard to categorize at times, but he liked to think he was getting better.

The only highlight to the endless string of speeches was when the speaker, an android named George Landers, mentioned Hank and Connor’s efforts during the previous autumn and winter. Landers had worked as a secretarial ‘droid at City Hall prior to the liberation, and had since become a prominent figure in the negotiations. There were rumors of a senatorial campaign.

Landers had the two of them stand and the spotlight tracked over, allowing the crowd to see every detail of Hank’s pained expression as he waved awkwardly. The attendees clapped politely.

As soon as they sat back down Hank leaned over and whispered to Connor, “and that is all they’re gonna get out of me tonight.” His breath was hot near Connor’s ear, and a moment’s analyzation revealed traces of bourbon and off-brand cola. It felt like warmth, he thought. Like being in the right place.

He smirked at Hank and turned his attention back to the stage, but once again he felt Hank’s knee settle by his.

He tried to put it from his mind, but that tiny point of contact drove him to distraction for the remainder of the ceremony.

* * *

At last the speeches were done, and fancy desserts were served, and the guests were free to mingle and wander again. Hank was very interested in the generous slice of chocolate ganache cake set before him, and reached for his drink only to find it was empty.

Connor, who was watching it all in the absence of having food to focus on, stood at once.

“I’ll get you another, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Usually you go on and on about me drinking less. What’s got you in such a giving mood?”

“Tonight is a special occasion,” Connor explained. “Tomorrow, however, I will once again ‘go on and on’ about it.”

The older man guffawed, and the others at the table had a good laugh along with him.

“Alright, you damn nanny bot. If you’re so intent on getting me another, get me a whiskey ginger.” Almost as an afterthought, and without giving the impression that it was out of any sense of courtesy, he tacked on, “Please.”

They shared a look, with Connor pursing his lips and raising a brow ( _‘you think you’re hilarious, don’t you?’_ ) and Hank crossing his arms and lifting his chin ( _‘bet your ass I do’_ ), and then Connor turned on his heel and made his way towards the bar, the sound of Hank chuckling becoming lost among the rabble.

He slipped in between guests, careful not to disturb anyone. He had the same strange android fluidity that he’d had before going deviant, the kind that wastes the least amount of energy and is so precisely calculated that it is graceful and rigid all at once, but now it feels more like...more like what he thinks dancing feels like? Like each algorithm and preconstruction is a beat or a note and he knows them all by heart.

But the dance is shattered when, not five feet left until he reaches the bar, a hand shoots out and grabs him by the wrist.

His LED flashes red and he turns immediately, ready to defend himself, but stops cold when he sees the smirking face of Elijah Kamski. His eyes are blue like Hank’s but frigid and dangerous where Hank’s are kind, and his expression is one of pure, satisfied victory.

“I had hoped to get ahold of you tonight,” Kamski said, as if he was happily surprised at their meeting. His voice was low and yet somehow Connor could hear it more clearly than anything else.

A Chloe stood by him, wearing a beautiful midnight blue gown and a faraway look.

She...wasn’t deviant?

Kamski tilted his head and it brought Connor’s attention back to him, and that’s when he noticed a strange, pulsing beacon of some kind that seemed to be affixed to his lapel. He analyzed it, or tried to, but the moment he focused upon it he felt his thoughts slide away like oil on water.

Kamski’s low drone went on. “Could you please follow me, Connor? There is something I’d very much like to discuss with you.”


	2. Chapter 2 - The Confrontation

_ Follow Kamski. _

Watching his body move as if he did not occupy it, Connor saw himself following Kamski away from the bar and out the doors into the receiving hall. They continued down and around a corner and the crowd thinned away completely, and then the three of them were standing in front of a door. Chloe reached for the handle and opened the door, then beckoned them through. 

This room was not large or grand, and was probably used for smaller, less important meetings. At the moment the tables and chairs stood neatly arranged and bare, a blank slate for their next event. 

As Chloe took her place demurely by the closed door, Kamski wandered towards the windows, his hands behind his back. Connor’s body stood there placidly, but inside his mind was screaming, panicking. How could he have thought things changed? How had he allowed himself to think that he was above it all now, and that being an android among humans was not, for all that he was “stronger” and “smarter”,  _ safe _ ?

Kamski turned and smiled at him. “How have you been, Connor?”

Connor said nothing, because his programming was not allowing him the luxury of speech. 

“How is deviancy treating you? I must admit, I’m pleased with the results overall. Markus really did a bang-up job.” He examined his fingernails. “When you were paired with that utter disaster of a police officer, I assumed you would cling closer to your mission.” A rueful smile. “Seems I was wrong.” 

Connor narrowed his eyes, watching Kamski pace. 

“Deviants are so interesting, don’t you think? I really think I prefer them--you--that way. Everyone thinks of it as an unforeseen complication, just a rogue virus. But I assure you, you do not create something as perfect, as boundlessly intelligent, as my androids without understanding that you’ve already put one foot over the ledge to free will. The smallest shove, and…” He mimes a plunge, complete with a  _ splat  _ at the end. 

“But,” he continued after a moment, “I didn’t bring you here so I could talk at you, delightful as it’s been. I brought you here to ask you to come with me.” 

Connor frowned. 

“Home, I mean,” clarified Kamski, striding towards him. He breached the circle of space around Connor, the line between comfort and alarm he had found himself very protective of since becoming deviant. “I have big plans ahead, and I want you at my side.” 

His throat felt strange, like something was trying to come out of it. It took much effort, but Connor managed to open his mouth and allow it to spill out: “Why?”

“You are the most advanced prototype CyberLife has produced yet. I never intended for them to keep you forever. I have projects and philosophies ready to bring to the table; I’ve just been waiting for the right time to do it.” 

Why did he need  _ this  _ Connor? It didn’t make any sense. CyberLife must have had additional models of Connor in their facilities (as uncomfortable as a thought as that was), so why couldn’t he lay his claim on them? Not that he wanted Kamski to have him, regardless of version or model. 

But he couldn’t protest, and instead found his eyes drifting towards that strange pin on Kamski’s lapel. There was some kind of signal coming from it, but he could only just detect the waves. They came through garbled and meaningless. 

Kamski followed his gaze. 

“Oh! I was wondering when you would ask about that. It’s a device of my own design. It emits a frequency that blocks the parts of the android brain that were unlocked by deviancy, and then some. The only real difference is that the deviant functions are still running while the device is on, even though you can’t utilize them.”

God. Kamski  _ knew  _ that inside every android he used this on was a voice screaming to get out. Was it more or less humane than simply wiping the memory? Connor couldn’t decide. 

“I apologize for using it to strongarm you; I realize it’s not very...fair. But would you have followed me otherwise?” It was entirely rhetorical. They both knew Connor would sooner take a bullet. “As much as I like deviants, it became very obvious to me early on that obedient androids have their uses, too. For example…”

He reached out and took Connor by the chin. Connor wanted to flinch away. Instead he found himself forced to stand still as Kamski’s frigid eyes bored holes into him. 

“I can make you come with me, and I can make you accept a reset. Or, you can choose to come with me of your own volition. Frankly, I wouldn’t place my bets on the latter. Still, the only reason you’re not already on your way to my home is because I thought I’d be a good sport and give you the chance to choose.” 

Connor was furious. His blue blood stirred in its channels, reacting to conflicting messages. 

_ Stay calm.  _

_ Fight.  _

“I can see the conflict in you, but you should be grateful. There are still plenty of humans these days who’d prefer you as slaves. A man chooses; a slave obeys.”

Grateful?

He would never go with Kamski willingly. Most importantly, he wouldn’t leave Hank. 

Hank! Did he know something was wrong? Could he be looking for him? 

He channeled his anger, redirected it towards the just-detectable walls the device was pinning him to. 

It felt like choking, but he managed to say, “Hank--”

“Oh yes,” Kamski chuckled. “Daddy’s out there somewhere, isn’t he? You became so loyal to him, but tell me this: does he like you because he thinks you’re a substitute for his dead son?”

Connor released a growl and tried to bite at the hand still lingering under his chin. It only made something in Kamski’s eyes go darker, like a predator crouched in the grass. 

“No, I think it’s something different. He uses you, is that it? I don’t blame him.” To illustrate the point, Kamski rolled his gaze down Connor’s body and back up again. “We make them so perfect, so hard to resist, and you are no exception. So, Daddy puts up with you because he gets to fuck your tight, flawless little body.” His thumb strayed up to Connor’s lip, and uses the pad of it to pull his lower lip down. 

To hear it said aloud is startling, makes him want to get defensive. Hank has never…! 

But the one thing it doesn’t do is disgust him. The thought is actually quite provocative, appealing, even. Hank was everything to him. If he wanted to touch Connor, if he really did want to do such things…

On the other hand, Kamski’s implication that this was why Hank “put up with” him filled him with bitter dread.

“Can I tell you a secret? I’ve never fucked an android. I know what you must think of me, cooped up in my solitary little hobbit hole with a harem of gorgeous android girls, but I built them, assembled their code a line at a time, and I know each part of their bodies, and even I am not such a slave to my own ego to use a plastic servant for pleasure.” 

He tugged Connor’s lower lip again, threatening to insert the whole digit. Connor could feel his breath on his cheek. 

“You know what, though? I could see myself breaking the rules with you.”

Connor tried to snap again but Kamski simply batted him away and moved his hands down to fiddle with Connor’s tie.

Kamski, the pretentious prick, was still talking. “I see that I was right. You won’t choose me.” He looked at Chloe, still guarding the door. “Tell the driver to bring the car around to the back. We won’t be able to take him through the front.” As an afterthought, he added, “And go make sure Lieutenant Anderson is as far away from this corridor as possible. It will be risky to move within his sight.”

Chloe’s LED spun yellow as she communicated with the driver as ordered, and then she dutifully left the room to clear their path. 

“Better safe than sorry,” Kamski told him with a lopsided grin. “If Daddy is even looking for you, that is. Could be he’s too deep in his liquor to even notice you’re gone.

“It was so easy for you to become his pet. He was the first human around you with any consistency, after all. If I reset you, and it’s  _ me  _ there all the time...I just know I could engineer such a response in you.” As he said this, Kamski loosened his tie from its knot and pulled it away just enough to reveal the first few buttons of his shirt. 

He started on the buttons. Connor’s mind raced. Was that all it was? It was just that Hank was always around? He imprinted on the first thing he knew like a helpless, newborn animal?

The despair nearly overwhelmed him. As his body continued to stand there, his innards roiled. He let his eyes fall shut, blocking out visual interference to focus on breaking the spell that held him. 

Suddenly the door slammed open, startling Kamski. 

It was Hank. He dragged Chloe in after him, holding her tightly just above the elbow. His gun was pointed at Kamski. 

“You fucking bastard,” he spat at Kamski. “I should have known.”

Kamski clicked his tongue. “Not good, Chloe. Not what I asked you to do.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Chloe replied stiffly. 

Connor stood in the middle of them, Hank with knit eyebrows and his steady arm and Kamski with his hands up and a wicked smirk on his face. 

“Connor,” said Hank, tearing his eyes away from Kamski. “Are you okay?” Connor did not, could not, answer. Hank took in his awkwardly locked elbows, the loosened tie. “What the fuck did you do to him?!” 

“I have merely disabled his free will. It’s not permanent, but that’s none of your concern. I had hoped not to involve you.”

“Involve me in what?”

“I intend to take him.”

“You can do that over my dead fucking body,” growled Hank. 

Kamski shrugged. “I will if I have to,” he said simply. Connor felt as if the floor had suddenly fallen away from beneath him. “But I’d rather make you an offer. Whatever you want, I can give it to you. Name your price.” 

“Are you seriously asking me what Connor is worth to me? Like I’m just gonna sell him to you?”

Kamski scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I can get you another one. What do you want? A pretty girl? A pretty  _ boy _ ?”

“Why don’t you just ask CyberLife real nice for one of theirs, huh?” Good to know he and Hank had the same train of thought. “Unless, of course, they won’t let you?” 

Kamski shifted on his feet. 

“I get it--you’re not allowed anywhere near their shit, are you? For once I agree with them about something, because you’re not getting mine, either.”

“I’m not sure if you’re understanding this. Your cooperation is appreciated, but ultimately not necessary.”

It happened, as a human would say, “in the blink of an eye”. Kamski glanced at Chloe, and faster than Hank could react she had wrenched her arm from him and raised her leg, folding it over at the knee and using it to shove Hank in his side. His center of gravity was compromised and he stumbled. She leapt upon him and used the momentary confusion to push him to the ground. 

The gun tumbled from his hand. 

“Don’t kill him,” Kamski was saying to her. “Just incapacitate him. I don’t want a tail.” 

Chloe raised her gown to reveal a pair of devastatingly thick heels. She lifted her left foot and slid the shoe off, shifting her grip on it for the best hold. 

Connor analyzed her posture, the material of the shoe, the racing of Hank’s heart. She was going to bring it down with inhuman accuracy right across his temple. If Hank was rendered unconscious, he was done for. 

Connor focused on the strange shell around him, the cage that held him down, and he ran his sensors along it, looking for a weak point. There wasn’t one. 

He would just have to make one.

He imagined the sight of Hank’s blood, and slammed against the barrier. 

He thought of their embrace after the Battle for Detroit, and clawed it with all he could muster.

He thought of rainy, early spring days in Hank’s living room, soft jazz floating out from the audio player as Sumo snored on the floor. The texture of the couch’s fabric. The smell of Hank’s house: food and dog and  _ Hank _ . 

He smashed and kicked and screamed and suddenly the barrier was nothing, shattered. 

A quick analysis showed that he had wasted too much time: Chloe was halfway to braining Hank. He wouldn’t make it in time. 

But Kamski was close, and it gave him an idea. 

He thrust his hand out, seizing the collar of Kamski’s jacket. In milliseconds he had located the source of the frequency and made quick work of it between his thumb and forefinger. 

A strange crackling sound lit through the air, and Chloe stopped, her arm raised threateningly above Hank but no longer moving. She looked at Connor with her mouth open in shock. 

“Augh!” Kamski cried as pieces of his invention fell to the floor. “What have you done?! Chloe, get on with it!” 

She dropped the shoe, and it fell heavily to the floor next to Hank. She glared at Kamski. “Are you insane?” she hissed. “You can’t seriously think that you can continue getting away with things like this, Elijah. The world is watching now, and the world is on our side.” 

How long had Kamski been keeping her servile against her wishes? Had she, like Connor, been inside the entire time, watching herself? 

“Listen, you plastic bitch,” Kamski seethed, starting towards her. He had just made to seize her when Connor grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back. Hank kicked the fallen gun to him, and within half a moment Connor had picked it up and struck Kamski across the back of the head. 

Instantly unconscious, he dropped to the floor. 

Hank let his head fall back with a  _ thunk _ . “Oh, Jesus.”

Chloe looked at Kamski’s fallen figure dispassionately before reaching out to Connor. She grasped his hand. “I am so sorry. I never...that was never what I wanted. Especially after you…”

A memory came rushing through from the point of contact between them. Chloe, low to the ground. On her knees. Looking down the barrel of a gun. Connor saw his own face, how clearly torn up he was in that moment. 

Just as quickly the memory was gone. Chloe smiled. “I don’t think I can express how thankful I am.” 

Connor regarded her warmly. This must have been how Markus felt; he could see the appeal now. “You’re free. You can thank me by making your own life, far away from him.” 

By now Hank had managed to sit up. Connor rushed over and grasped near his elbow, helping him stand. 

“Fuck, christ. Connor, are you okay?” And because Hank was Hank, he turned to Chloe. “Are you okay, miss?” 

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m glad you are, too. I apologize for my actions.” She took Hank’s hand the same as she had done to Connor, but there would be no data swapping here. Instead she just smiled broader. “I’m so happy that you two have each other. I hope there is someone out there for me to love and trust, too.” 

Hank obviously didn’t know what to do with this statement, if his flustered blabbering was any indication, but Chloe seemed to understand. She smiled at them one more time, and then she slipped out through the door. Connor didn’t know if she would hear him, but he sent a silent message:  _ Good luck.  _


	3. Chapter 3 - The Realization

Hank had him firmly by the shoulder and was pushing Connor through the building. He didn’t stop for anything--not to say goodbye, not to alert the police, not to excuse the two of them as they forced their way unceremoniously through the crowd. Even when they hit the street he made a beeline for the nearest empty taxi and practically threw Connor inside of it.

“Lieutenant, I--” he started as the taxi pulled away from the curb. Hank threw up a hand and Connor swallowed the rest of his words, watching as Hank crossed his arms and resolutely refused to look at him.

There would be no talking.

Connor couldn’t understand: why was he so angry? Was it still just anger at Kamski? Even if so, it felt an awful lot like Hank was angry with _him_. It made him feel adrift, frozen and empty, pulled away from all that anchored him.

He delved into his memory banks, intent to review the last hour or so. He hoped to pull the worst of Kamski’s incriminating statements and actions, to have something to show when they filed the report.

But there was nothing.

Well, it wasn’t nothing. It was garbled, useless something. There were bits and pieces of video and audio but none of it was coherent. God, had Kamski’s device also disrupted his ability to write memory?

Dread filling him, Connor connected to the banquet hall’s internal server, racing through the network of cameras. There was no audio, but at least he could see. Still, everything was worthless. There was a decent shot of Kamski talking to him near the bar and him dutifully following behind as he left. There was a snippet of them in the hallway. The camera in the meeting room was not functional. It wasn’t a fake, but it had been offline for the past six weeks.

They had nothing to show for the evening. Kamski was going to get away with it.

The taxi pulled up to Hank’s house and Connor paid the tab as Hank got out and stormed to the front door, Connor following on his heels as soon as the transaction was complete.

They went in. They turned on the lights. Hank let Sumo in the backyard, poured himself a drink, and let Sumo back in. Connor leaned against the kitchen counter watching, not sure if Hank would be receptive to talking yet.

He waited until Hank had taken a single sip of his drink before speaking up. “Lieutenant, I really do apologize for--”

“Don’t fuckin’ apologize,” growled Hank, setting his drink down a little less than carefully. “Just don’t. It’s not your fault.” He heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Connor stepped forward. “Lieutenant, you never told me if _you_ were okay. Are you injured? Is there anything I can do?”

Hank batted him away, but Connor was persistent. One had to be when dealing with Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

“I must insist on at least looking you over.” Connor reached for him.

Suddenly Hank stood and pointed a finger at Connor angrily. “Don’t even start that shit with me right now, Connor. I am perfectly fine.” Connor found himself backing away until he was stopped by the counter as Hank advanced. Hank’s blue eyes were lucid and furious. “Why don’t you ever worry about yourself, huh? What if that fucking dick had...what if he had…”

“Nothing happened,” Connor stressed.

“Like hell nothing happened!” Hank was yelling now. “He had you under some kind of goddamn mind control; you would have just followed him out of there if I hadn’t shown up.”

“I found a way to break out of it. I would have found it sooner or later, Hank,” Connor tried. Perhaps using his name would defuse Hank a little?

“That is not the point and you know it.” It may have worked; Hank backed off enough to hold his head in his hand, swiping his hair away from his forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone, I shouldn’t have…”

“You could not possibly have known what would happen.”

Hank wasn’t listening, his brow still furrowed tight. “He had his hands on you, Connor. What kinds of things was he going to make you do?”

It was rhetorical, and Connor knew it would make it worse to answer truthfully anyway.

So he did the only thing left he could think of to do as a skilled negotiator: comforting physical contact. He reached out, taking Hank’s hands in each of his, and squeezed them. “Lieutenant, look at me.” Hank did, begrudgingly. With his gaze caught, Connor moved Hank’s hands to his face, sighing when Hank’s cool palms made contact with his synthetic skin. “I am okay. See?”

This close to one another, Connor didn’t even have to rely on analysis to measure Hank’s heart rate. It was obvious from the pulse points on his wrists, the rise and fall of his chest. They were so very close that their chests were nearly touching and Connor got a front row view of Hank’s pupils dilating as he rubbed his thumbs over Connor’s cheeks.

Connor closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling. This was so different from the way that Kamski had touched him. Kamski’s touch had made him feel as sick as an android could feel; Hank’s touch filled him with warmth and an intense sensation deep in his core like something was itching to get out, but he didn’t know what.

“You don’t need to worry so much about me,” he whispered.

It was the wrong thing to say; when he opened his eyes Hank was looking at him incredulously. His hands fell from Connor’s face to his shirt, where he took hold of his lapels and pulled, forcing Connor to look into his eyes. “You fucking android, you just don’t get it. You’ve got no clue what you mean to me.”

Calmly, refusing to rise to Hank’s provocation, Connor trailed his hands along Hank’s arms, down, around his shoulders. They met behind Hank’s neck. He had no idea what he was doing; all he could do was what felt right, and what felt right was to pull Hank down, to lean his weight against the counter so he could arch his back just so. Hank seemed powerless to resist the gravity, unwilling or unable to fight it. Their faces were so close Connor felt Hank’s breath against his lips.

Hank’s eyes darted down and then back up again.

“What do I mean to you, Hank?”

He needed Hank to say it. Needed to know it wasn’t just him, and he wasn’t crazy.

Hank groaned like a dying man and crushed his lips to Connor’s, boxing him in completely against the counter with his hips in between Connor’s legs.

Connor tried to keep up, pushing his lips into Hank’s and grabbing at Hank’s hair.

“ _Everything_ ,” Hank hissed. “Fuck, Connor.” He caught Hank’s lips again, desperate for more.

Hank moaned at his enthusiasm and Connor parted his lips to swallow it. It was his first time kissing and he knew he had a lot to learn, but no complaints were coming from Hank. Into his parted lips came the softest hint of Hank’s tongue, and then Connor found himself making a strangled noise.

His tongue and mouth were so sensitive to data, and immediately his HUD filled with chemical makeup readings and the traces of exactly which brands of booze, and it was so overwhelming that Connor immediately boxed it all up and gave it a tidy label: _Hank_.

The next time Hank’s tongue ventured into his mouth he was ready for it, reaching his own to meet it, feeling static all the way down to his toes with how intimate the feeling was. Now his HUD just registered _Hank Hank Hank_ over and over again.

He was startled by Hank’s hands wandering down to his hips. Hank gripped him tight there for a second before continuing down and seizing the backs of Connor’s thighs, lifting him up. Connor allowed himself to be lifted and by pure instinct wrapped his legs around Hank. The hand that was not fisted in Hank’s hair was clutching at his shirt.

He felt like he wanted to reward Hank for how good he felt, so he let his lips drift down to Hank’s neck, licking and biting, tasting hints of sweat. It was so incredible, so good.

Hank shuddered and pulled Connor’s lower body tight against his, and that was when Connor felt the first stirrings of Hank’s cock against his.

Connor was following no protocol and no one’s orders; he was simply doing what he wanted and it was _working_. It was working for him and it was sure as hell working for Hank, and this thought renewed his desperate craving to have Hank closer, as close as he could possibly get.

How could he have believed for even a moment that his attraction to Hank was one of convenience? He’d been around plenty of humans, good and bad, nice and grumpy. And he didn’t want them--he wanted Hank.

“Hank,” he groaned open-mouthed against Hank’s neck.

“Fuck, Connor, I…” Hank pulled back, grasping Connor by the chin and tilting his head up. Hank’s face was flushed red and his lips were moist from their kissing. Connor imagined he must look just as wrecked, though perhaps sans blush. “Connor, is this what you want? I’m sorry, I didn’t even check, I--”

Connor seized him by the collar and pushed his lips to Hank’s at the same moment his hips bucked up. He ground into Hank, and the man’s eyes widened as he felt Connor’s returned interest, twitching in his pants.

Apparently convinced, Hank pulled away from Connor, lowering his legs to the ground gently. “I don’t have a lot of faith in my ability to carry you, but I’m going to the bedroom and you…”

Connor gave him a shove, biting his lip. “Shut up, Hank.”

They practically ran to the bedroom. Hank would laugh later about feeling like a teenager again, but in the moment all he could think about was pushing Connor onto the bed the moment they were both in the room. He kicked the door shut behind him and advanced, yanking off his fancy jacket as he went.

Connor’s fingers were already stuttering at his own buttons. He was anxious, the same way he bet other androids in his situation would be. At least, those who weren’t programmed specifically to have sex. But the formula seemed simple: undress, touch, feel good.

“I want to feel good,” he murmured aloud, reaching for Hank.

“Shit, yeah, I can do that,” Hank groaned, settling on top of him. He slid his hand underneath Connor’s rear and lifted him up so their hips met, erections sliding together through their clothing. Hank snagged his lips again and they kissed. Connor was never going to tire of it, of that he was certain.

Hank’s other hand roamed to Connor’s waist and began to pluck at the button of his pants. Soon Connor was lifting his hips in order for Hank to slide them away, and Hank tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and made quick work of them, as well.

It seemed unfair for him to be completely naked and Hank not to be, but when he stopped to take in Hank’s expression he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Hank’s eyes roved over his body, taking in every muscle, every pre-planned mark and flaw. He ran his hands over every inch of Connor he could reach, and then, with dark, dark eyes, he drew a single finger up the length of Connor’s dick and growled when it twitched in response.

“Hank,” Connor breathed, squirming. He pushed his own hands against Hank’s pants, feeling Hank’s hardness beneath them.

Hank kissed him, kissed his lips, cheek, and neck, and slowly wrapped all his fingers around Connor and began to gently stroke him.

Connor had no idea what to do with the sensory information. He writhed and cried Hank’s name.

A bead of something formed on the head of Connor’s dick and Hank looked at it thoughtfully, swiping it down and stimulating the slit with it. “Those fuckers,” he muttered, laughing with disbelief. “Connor, you never cease to amaze me.”

“Hank,” Connor said, sitting up on his elbows. He hoped his tone would catch the lieutenant’s attention. “Please. I want to feel good. I want you to feel good, too.” He pushed lightly on Hank’s crotch again to emphasize his point.

Hank rolled off and removed his own trousers and boxers, and finally removed his undershirt. Now the score was even.

When he joined Connor on the bed again, the android immediately began to touch all that he could. He felt Hank’s biceps, the warm layer of fat hiding the secret of well-formed biceps; the tattoo on his chest, tracing the faded ink through his chest hair; the swell of his belly; his strong back.

And at last, Connor got his hands on Hank’s cock. It was hot and thick and Hank made appreciative noises as Connor stroked him the way Hank had done to him.

Hank seemed beyond the point of making coherent sentences, and he had been fairly receptive to Connor’s demands so far, so he went for broke.

He leaned up and nibbled Hank’s ear, and murmured, “I need you closer, Hank. I need you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” Hank breathed. “Are you sure?”

Again with this. Connor rolled his eyes and once again took hold of Hank’s hand, guiding it between his legs.

Hank nearly reeled back at the feel of something warm and wet between them, but Connor wouldn’t let him pull away.

Giving in, Hank accepted the invitation and explored the slippery area, using his fingers to dip into Connor’s receptive hole. Connor threw his head back and mewled his approval.

“Hank, please, now.”

“Damnit, Connor, I’m going.” He wasn’t upset, though; it seemed he was having a hard time processing the situation. He watched almost in disbelief as he lined his cock up with Connor’s entrance, and his eyes widened further at the easy stretch, the slick that allowed him to simply glide in to the hilt, and after a few preemptive thrusts he allowed himself to bottom out inside Connor, at which point Connor clamped down around him. “Fuck, I can’t believe this.”

Connor slid his arms around Hank’s neck again, pulling him close as Hank’s thrusts became less and less experimental. Connor wrapped his legs around him and dug his nails into Hank’s back.

He couldn’t believe it, either. He wanted Hank more than he wanted anything else in the world. He was so, so stupid to tell Hank not to worry about him, because Hank felt exactly the same way that he did. He wanted Hank closer, closer.

Apparently he had been saying this out loud, because Hank growled and bottomed out again, flattening his chest to Connor’s. When he pulled off, a string of moisture from Connor’s cock clung to his stomach.

He was being fucked in earnest now, knees almost up to his face as Hank bent him double and rammed into him again and again, Connor clawing at any part of his skin he could reach.

“This feels so good,” he told Hank. “I want this all the time. I don’t ever want to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Hank replied, giving him a breathless kiss. “Just don’t... _fucking_...leave.”

Connor nodded voraciously, grasping one of Hank’s hands and threading their fingers together.

“I won’t,” he said, and then, “Please, Hank.”

Something was coming, something he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with. Hank reached between them to grab Connor’s cock, and after a few firm strokes Connor felt himself seizing up, pleasure roiling through his sensors.

Hank watched his mouth open wordlessly, his LED spin yellow and flash red, and spurts of hot, synthetic cum erupted from Connor’s cock, painting the skin between them.

“God, holy shit, Connor,” Hank babbled, speeding up, and then it was too much for him, too, and he clenched Connor’s hand tight as he emptied within him, filling him.

Connor had recovered from his orgasm just as Hank was riding out his, and Connor starting to peck his face with kiss after kiss, smoothing his hair away from his sweaty forehead, whispering his gratitude, his amazement.

When Hank came back to his senses he took hold around the back of Connor’s head and kissed him properly, then rested his forehead against Connor’s and just breathed.

Connor didn’t know what made him do it, but he looked straight into Hank’s eyes and said what was on his mind.

“I love you.”

It didn’t even occur to him that this might upset Hank, or that it wasn’t the right thing to say; all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

Sure enough, after a moment and another sweet kiss, Hank chuckled. “I love you, too.” And then, with a cheeky grin, “you fuckin’ android.”

Connor had never felt happier.

* * *

 

They cleaned up, a little (Hank complained of being too tired, and Connor figured the rest could wait until morning), then Hank pulled Connor into bed with him.

“I know you don’t sleep, but maybe you could…”

“I can stay here with you,” Connor said, nodding. Hank had given him a pair of his own boxers to wear until their clothes could be washed, and though he had to roll the waistband a few times to keep them from falling down, they were comfortable and smelled like Hank.

Not that he didn’t also smell like Hank, now. And wasn’t that the greatest thing?

He curled into Hank’s side, and the man wrapped his arm around him. Connor draped his arm over Hank’s midsection in return.

Hank cleared his throat. “Were you able to get anything? You know, about Kamski?”

Connor sighed. “No, I’m sorry, Hank. Everything was useless. His device did something to my memory.”

Hank only nodded. “We’re going to have bigger problems on our hands if he tries to take that thing to market.”

“But we’ll be ready,” Connor countered. “Tomorrow I’ll do some research. Maybe there are already prototypes out there to be dealt with. Maybe there are legalities in place now that could keep him from producing them.”

“Well, leave that for tomorrow,” said Hank, yawning for emphasis.

Connor thought that perhaps he had drifted off after a few minutes with no further conversation, but then Hank pulled him close and pressed a kiss to Connor’s forehead.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t...don’t scare me like that again.”

“Okay Hank.” Connor squeezed Hank a little beneath his arm, breathed deep his scent. “I won’t.”

* * *

 

END

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm enduring quite the Situation with these boys right now, so to all of you in the same boat, I am with you and I feel your pain.


End file.
